


Patriotic Duty: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love an Avenger

by TaraSoleil



Series: Ice Bear Has Many Secrets [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy to the rescue, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, a bit of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSoleil/pseuds/TaraSoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a six-foot assassin comes calling at stupid o'clock in the morning, what's a girl to do but follow where he leads? Even if he's leading her to Captain America's bed... Steve gets sex pollened. Darcy to the rescue!</p><p>This was intended to be nothing more than crack and sex, but I am incapable of writing without plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ice Bear Cometh

It was stupid o’clock. Darcy checked her phone just in case the computer settings had been changed to read Timbuktu time, but, no, it was still stupid o’clock, so late it was actually well into tomorrow. 

Sighing, the young woman turned to her boss. “Jane, I’m giving you five more minutes for a fantastic breakthrough. If it hasn’t come yet, it’s straight to bed with you!” 

“Uh-huh. Five minutes,” the woman echoed absently, no actual recognition in her voice.  

This was precisely why the scientist needed a non-sciencey handler. She was brilliant, but couldn’t be trusted with the trivial tasks of life like sleeping or eating, not when there was science to be done. Stark Industries had attempted to replace Darcy with someone more fitting the position of a scientist’s assistant, someone with an alphabet soup of degrees in fields that actually pertained to Foster’s research, but each one had gotten caught up in the woman’s enthusiasm. Darcy was finally brought back in after Jane and her assistants were put on mandated bed rest after forgetting to sleep for six straight days while living off Snickers bars and energy drinks. So, at twenty-six years old, Darcy found herself acting as hen mother and wrestling a petulant woman six years her senior into bed.  

She had just turned the lights out on the snoring scientist when a low chime sounded in the apartment.  

“Friday?” she questioned quietly. 

The voice of the Tower’s AI answered in an equally low tone, “Sergeant Barnes is outside the door. Should I let him in, Miss Lewis?” 

Barnes? Darcy knew of him. Following the info-dump onto the Internet, everyone did. She had read the files, watched the shaky cellphone videos of him and Captain America fighting. It had been hella impressive. Then Thor announced that the Good Captain had found his friend and brought him home to the Tower. That had not gone well, what with Barnes killing Tony’s father and all. Darcy wasn’t close with anyone in the Tower but Jane, Thor and maybe Clint when he wasn’t being a total dick, so her intel was limited. She got the impression that Barnes was sort of settling in, though from the odd looks worn when talking about him, she knew he wasn’t quite his old self yet.  

The chime sounded again.  

“Miss Lewis?” Friday questioned.  

“Yeah, unlock the door,” she said, wondering just what the man wanted with Jane at stupid o’clock in the morning.  

She opened the door just enough to be polite without offering full admittance. The man on the other side stood nearly a foot taller than her, his ice blue eyes darting up and down the corridor before looking her way.  

“What’s up?” she asked as casually as she could. 

“Ice Bear was sent to find you,” he said in a dull monotone. 

“Ice Bear?” 

“Yes. Ice Bear,” he said, no humor in his voice or face, no emotion of any kind. The odd looks everyone wore when speaking of him made a lot more sense now. 

“Are you Ice Bear?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “Ice Bear was sent to find you.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for him to say more, for him to show some emotion or alter his stance from the stiff combat-ready position he was holding. Nothing. “I’m not Dr. Foster,” she said slowly, hoping it would be enough to make him go away. 

“Ice Bear knows this. Ice Bear was sent to find Darcy Lewis.” His eyes, already fixed on her, seemed to intensify, though not a muscle shifted in his face.  

A chill ran through her. “Why?” 

“Ice Bear cannot say.” 

“What do you want then?” 

“You are to follow Ice Bear. Now.” 

He didn’t wait for her agreement, just turned and started walking down the corridor toward the elevators. She was certain following him would be the stupidest idea ever; the man was clearly unstable, and she knew for fact he was deadly. She also knew that if his aim was to kill her, he totally could have done it eighteen times over by now and still had time to dispose of her body.  

“So, Ice Bear,” she called as she closed Jane’s door and ran to catch up, “where are we heading?” 

He set his thumb to the biometric scanner and spoke to the elevator, “Eighty-two.” 

“Medical?” She frowned, wondering what in Thor’s name someone in medical might need her for at stupid o’clock in the morning.  

Barnes remained silent as the elevator set them at the 82nd floor and as he led her through the labyrinth of corridors and nurses stations to reach the private suites held in reserve for the Avengers after particularly nasty missions. Thor, she knew, was off world, Jane asleep in her quarters, so the only one who might have summoned her would be Barton. Last she heard, though, he was on an Avengers good will tour of the lower forty-eight, showing off his trick shots and being generally geeky to bolster opinion polls in their favor.  

Before she could question her laconic companion, the door to one of the suites opened. For the briefest moment, she heard a pained wail. The horrific sound stopped when the door closed behind a man of medium build with a thick mop of greying hair and an impressive beard. His general bearing, lab coat and name tag proclaimed him to be a doctor.  

“Miss Lewis, I presume?” the doctor said, looking to Barnes, who nodded briefly. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, her fear growing by the minute. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Let’s go to the break room,” the man suggested. “You’re going to want to sit down, I think.” 

“Not helping ease my impending panic attack, dude,” she informed him, but allowed him to lead the way to a comfortably furnished room with plush armchairs, two long couches and several sturdy, metal-frame chairs surrounding a large, round table. There was no one in the room, all staff but this solitary doctor apparently off duty with most of the Avengers currently out of the city.  

“Please excuse my manner and my methods; we’re on something of a time crunch,” he apologized and gestured for her to sit. Once she had settled into one of the armchairs, he sat opposite. When he spoke, he used a slow, metered tone, one clearly meant to calm her, “Miss Lewis, I am Doctor Walker, chief physician for the Avengers Initiative.” 

“Is someone hurt?” she asked, though it seemed a rather stupid question. 

“Yes,” he replied. “Please understand that we have exhausted all other options at this point, and that I would not have approached you about this if there was another way.” 

“Do you need an emergency blood transfusion or something? I know I’m a rare type, but you don’t need to be so freaky about asking. Go ahead and use my life juice,” she offered up her arm to the man. 

He shook his head sadly, taking the hand she had thrown out toward him and holding it gently. “I wish it were that easy.” 

“A kidney?” 

Again he shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly.  

“Bone marrow? A lung? My left eye? What? What do you need? Why am I here?” she demanded, her panic and frustration causing Barnes to stir and straighten behind the man as if bracing for a fight.  

Doctor Walker cleared his throat. “Miss Lewis,  _Darcy_ ,” he paused, asking permission to address her so casually, “are you at all familiar with pheromonal neurotoxins and their effects?” 

“Not a scientist, but I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say that they aren’t good.” 

“Very not good. I think one might even go so far as to say they are quite bad, in fact.” 

“How bad?” 

“Debilitatingly bad,” he said darkly. “Our patient was dosed with an extremely high concentration of a previously unknown neurotoxin. We have isolated it in his blood samples, determined it to be pheromonal in nature, but cannot find an anti-toxin.” 

“Yeah, that sounds very not good, but you need me why?” 

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “At this rate, I fear he will suffer a hemorrhage or become braindead from lack of oxygen.” 

“Again, getting the very not good but not the why me,” she observed, narrowing her eyes at him and trying to sort out what the hell he was after. She had already offered up all the possible fluids and parts her body could spare plus extras. What the hell could they need her for in helping a man who had been dosed with pheromonal neurotoxin? 

“Wait,” she said slowly as all the random PBS and NatGeo specials she watched played through her head. “Pheromonal. As in pheromones? As in the chemical scent produced by animals to attract mates?” 

“Captain Rogers is in a great deal of pain, Darcy. Every test we’ve run, every solution we’ve tried only causes more pain. Nothing has brought him any relief,” Walker informed her sadly. “It’s been nearly two days, forty-three hours, since Captain Rogers was subjected to the neurotoxin. Given the speed of his metabolism, it ought to have run its course and been flushed from his system after the first twenty-four, but the effects are only getting worse.” 

“Sucks to be Rogers, but I still don’t get why you had tall, dark and monotone back there hunt me down and haul me in,” she scowled. 

The man’s professional detachment failed as he ran a hand through his hair and slumped in the chair. “There’s no easy or delicate way to say this,” he sighed. “Captain Rogers needs a woman.” He looked to her, his face flushed and eyes searching, hoping that she had understood. 

“A woman?” she echoed. 

Her sleepy and overworked brain hurried to replay everything the man had told her in the few minutes they had been sitting. Need a woman, pheromones attracted mates, hemorrhage or braindead from lack of oxygen… 

 _Why would he not get enough oxygen to his brain?_ she wondered. 

Lack of oxygen alone meant being put on a ventilator. Again, they wouldn’t need a woman for that.  

Lack of oxygen might mean lack of blood to the brain. Walker had already turned down her offer of life juice, so they didn’t need her blood. But why would he not be getting enough blood and oxygen to the brain… Pheromones. A woman.  

“You have got to be kidding me!” she cried and leapt to her feet so violently, she sent the chair skidding backwards on the tiles. “You cannot be serious! That’s you brilliant and doctorly prescription: Get laid?!” 

Walker’s face reddened further. His voice held nothing but contrition when he answered, “I’m afraid so.” 

“Why me? Why not just hire him a hooker?” Darcy all but shouted. 

“Ice Bear is deeply uncomfortable,” Barnes informed them. “Ice Bear will wait outside.” He turned and stalked from the room.  

Unperturbed by the strange assassin, Walker held her eye and replied, “He needs someone who can keep this a secret; your clearance level is among the highest in the building. He is also running out of time. I don’t think he’ll last another hour without you.” 

“Call in the Black Widow or someone like her to do the job if all you care about is secrecy and clearance levels.” 

“Agent Romanoff is currently radio silent on a mission, as are most of the other female agents with clearance levels high enough to be trusted with something this delicate. Besides that, I know Captain Rogers wouldn’t want me to approach any of them about this. He would not want anyone he works with burdened with this. It would make future missions… difficult for him.” 

“Hella awkward,” she corrected. 

“Yes.” 

Silence fell between them for a moment. 

Walker finally asked, “Will you help him?” 

Darcy paused, considering his request, then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I feel totally unpatriotic turning you down, but I can’t just have sex with Captain America. It would be weird.”  

“I understand,” Doctor Walker sighed heavily as he hoisted himself to his feet and lead her back through down hallway. Darcy had every intention of going to the elevators, returning to her tiny apartment and forgetting this indecent proposal ever went down, but that plaintive wail stopped her. It was the same as before, though this time it was punctuated by a ragged scream that ended abruptly with a whimper. It made her heart ache, especially now that she knew who was making those pitiful sounds.  

“Ice Bear is concerned,” Barnes said from the open doorway to Rogers’ room. His brow folded together even more deeply as he looked in.  

Walker hurried to his patient, and Darcy, despite her better judgement, followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this entire story came about because I caught an episode of We Bare Bears and was determined to write something with Bucky talking and acting like Ice Bear. [LINK TO ICE BEAR MOMENTS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyPeDZ-I8pY%20). Then I read [Craving by GlynnisIsta8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4749452?view_adult=true) and knew what to do. Because, really, anything with Bucky referring to himself as Ice Bear was going to be a crack fic and sex pollen stories are some of the crackiest crack stories I've ever read. Seriously.
> 
> Do let me know what you think.


	2. For Baby Eagles, Purple Mountains and Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy's mouth writes checks that her body is more than happy to cash.

The room smelled of antiseptic, sweat and sex. It was also a mess. A lamp in the far corner had been thrown to the floor, its low watt bulb filling the room with long, irregular shadows. The mass produced artwork had been torn from the walls. Fist-sized holes left the beige walls looking like out-of-date swiss cheese. The mattress was naked, its pillow-top ripped open; the bedding scattered across the floor, leaving a trail for Darcy’s eye to follow in her search for the man who had done all the damage. She found him huddled in a corner, his naked body shaking though his skin was shining with perspiration. He was sickeningly pale. 

The doctor was kneeling beside him, offering empty words of comfort and promising cures that she knew would not be found in time to help him.  

She couldn’t bear to see Captain America in such a state.  

Escaping from the room, she called quietly, “Friday?” 

“Yes, Miss Lewis?” the AI answered.  

“Are there any other female employees on duty in the Tower tonight?” 

There was a pause. “Dr. Foster is in her quarters, Mrs. Hartsfield is currently patrolling the sixth floor and you are in medical, Miss Lewis.” 

Three women. In a Tower of ninety-three floors, there were only three women available at half-past stupid o’clock in the morning. One was spoken for by a god, another married, which left only her. No wonder she had been the Doctor’s first choice and last resort.  

She peered into the room, watching as the doctor tried to ease Rogers from the corner only to have the man scream when touched.  

That was not the Captain Rogers she knew from history classes, news footage and the single time they had spoken in an elevator close to ten months ago. They met on her first official day back on Team Foster;  she had been briefed, though three days of training was hardly brief by her standards, and given an access badge and a clearance level (6, for whatever that was worth) and told to arrive early so she could make it through all the security checkpoints. What she had not been told was how to work the state of the art elevator, which had zero buttons. 

She had strut through the first three security stations like a boss, strode onto the elevator and been forced to stand in stupefied wonder for several long seconds. The shame of admitting her ignorance had been too high to return to the last security desk for help. Luckily, a man had joined her, smiling pleasantly before pressing his thumb to a small panel and speaking his floor number.  

 _“First day?” he asked, not unkindly._  

 _“Does it show?”_  

 _He breathed a quiet laugh, again not unkindly. “A little. Stark likes to impress everyone, so he makes sure new employees only know the bare minimum and have to stand in awe of his genius.”_  

 _“What a dick,” she commented._  

 _“Not going to argue,” he smiled. “I’m Steve.”_  

 _“Darcy, super assistant to the stars. Well, to the star scientist, anyway.”_  

 _He turned to take her offered hand, and she made the single most embarrassing noise of her life. It sounded as if a chipmunk had taken up residence in her mouth. Before she could say the name that was clearly written on her face, he gave her hand enough of a squeeze to draw her attention. “I’m just Steve.”_  

 _“You are so not ‘Just Steve’! You’re_ him _!” she argued, poking his sculpted chest to reinforce her statement, eyeing his impressive height, wide shoulders and ridiculously narrow hips. He was definitely a man of superhero proportions._  

 _Red crept up his neck at her scrutiny, but his eye did not waver nor did his voice. “Only when I’m wearing the suit. The rest of the time, I’m just Steve.”_  

 _“Then maybe you should stop using you’re ‘I’m Captain America and eagles cry when you disagree with me’ voice,” she countered._  

 _“I’m not.”_  

 _“Oh, Just Steve, you totally are.”_  

She hadn’t spoken to him since that first day. They had seen one another in the corridors, offered nods and waves, but nothing more. His time was monopolized by saving the world and his BFF, hers by keeping Jane alive and sciencing.  

Doctor Walker was right. Just Steve would not have wanted any of the women he worked with to see him in his current state. More than just disappointing America, he would have been humiliated. The idea of her addressing him as Captain America had brought a blush to his face, what would happen if a woman who slept with him, essentially for charity, had to take his orders? Just Steve wouldn’t have been able to bear it. No, it was better to be a woman who never saw him. It was better to be her, Darcy, with her fabulously high clearance level and thirty-seven signed non-disclosure agreement.  

Doctor Walker was there, face drawn with earnest worry. “He’s getting worse. We can’t even touch him now. Clothing isn’t an option anymore. He can’t lie down; the feel of the mattress is too intense for his nerves,” he paused, hands tugging at his hair. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Sergeant Barnes will escort you back to the elevators.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

She blinked, her mouth falling open, too shocked that the words had come out when what she had planned to do was apologize again. But when the doctor asked her to confirm her statement, she knew the words that had sprung unbidden from her mouth were right.  

“I’ll do it. For baby eagles and purple mountains majesty and all that crap,” she said, trying to find the humor in the situation. There really wasn’t any to find. 

“I… I don’t know what to say…” Walker replied, seemingly as shocked as she was.  

“Dude, you were the one who wanted me to say ‘yes’! But if you offer me compensation for this, I swear I will bitch slap you,” she threatened.  

“No, of course not,” the man said quickly.  

“And we speak of this to no one, not even him. If this works, he will never know I was here,” she pointed a warning finger at him, then at Barnes. “Got it, Ice Bear?” 

“Ice Bear understands.” 

“Damn right, you do.” 

Walker hurried to arrange a second suite for her, setting the room up as if she had been brought in after a freak lab accident, though she doubted anyone in accounting would accept a lowly assistant getting the superhero treatment. It would work for the nursing staff, though. The thought made her pale. “Uh, what about the rest of the staff? Nurses? Doctors? Candy-stripers or whatever?” 

“All off duty. Captain Rogers demanded they be sent away while he was still coherent. He hated anyone else knowing about the state he was in,” the doctor assured her. “No one will be on this floor after you’ve been admitted. Friday will ensure privacy settings are in place and the elevator and doors will be locked. Barnes will patrol the stairwells.” 

“You okay with that, Ice Bear?” 

“Ice Bear will protect Steve,” Barnes replied.  

“Good enough for me,” Darcy sighed.  

Walker set a falsified chart with her name on it outside the suite next to Steve’s, then boarded the elevator. Barnes lingered for just a few minutes until Friday informed him that the doctor was safely back in his quarters, then he left, too. Darcy watched him through the window in the door as he stalked up the stairs and out of sight. She tested the handle. It was locked.  

She stood in shocked terror at what she had agreed to, sick crawling up her throat and feeling as if a boulder had landed in her stomach.  

“What the fuck was I thinking?” she demanded, though there was no one left to answer her.  

After several steadying breaths that did nothing to calm her nerves, she made her way to the room Walker had assigned her. It was well-appointed with all the amenities an ailing Avenger might need. She checked the closet, finding the kind of fluffy terry cloth robe one might get at swanky spas and hotels. There were SI t-shirts and sweatpants in the bureau drawers, and slippers by the bed; thick, white towels in the bathroom and complimentary shampoos and soaps on the sink. It felt far more like a hotel than a hospital. She had to see if there was a bible in the night table. There wasn’t. Instead, she found condoms. Three boxes. Extra large.  

“Oh shit,” she groaned and hit her head against the wall.  

A muffled scream answered her from the next room.  

“Pardon the intrusion, Miss Lewis,” Friday said. “Dr. Walker wished me to remind you that Captain Rogers likely has less than forty minutes before his condition causes permanent bodily harm or brain death.” 

“Got it. No pressure,” she muttered and returned to the bathroom. The three boxes of condoms gave rather the strong impression that she wouldn’t be getting much of a break in the foreseeable future, so better go now while she had the chance.  

The figure that met her in the mirror was not one she would have found attractive. After fifteen hours on the job, her hair was tangled, makeup smudged around the eyes and worn off everywhere else. The scowl wasn’t particularly inviting either. She wasn’t dressed for sex. Her clothes weren’t even remotely sexy; jeans and sweater, same as always. It was the best Just Steve was going to get.  

“Forty minutes,” she told herself. “I can do this.”  

The walk from her room to his took forever. Every step required monumental effort, but she made it to his door. The whimpering told her he was still conscious.  

She was sure she should say something, knock or otherwise announce her presence, but she couldn’t make her voice work. Jane would laugh if she ever found out that Darcy was finally, completely speechless, though, honestly, Darcy never planned to tell anyone about this. Ever. No one would ever see her as anything but a prostitute when this was all done, she was certain of it. Just Steve would hate her; Jane would be disappointed; Clint would probably approve for a multitude of skeezy reasons.  

“Stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself. “Live in the now.” 

In the now, there was a really great guy who needed help. In the now, there was a terrified Darcy inching her way further into his room. In the now, the cowering ball of superhero shifted at the sound of her approach. In the now, he turned his glazed eyes on her, pulling himself to his feet. In the now, Darcy was very glad someone had thought to buy extra large condoms because…  _damn_.  

“Hi, Steve,” she said, impressed the chipmunks hadn’t taken up residence in her mouth at the sight of him naked and wanting.  

“Pretty,” he said, his voice hoarse from screaming and pained for reasons that were now very obvious. “Smell nice.” 

She was about to thank him, to laugh and play it off, to comment that he really wasn’t getting enough oxygen to his brain if that’s the best he could come up with. She was about to do all that and more, but he launched himself at her, gripping her face in his hands, his fingers tangling painfully in her hair as he pressed his lips to hers, rutting against her side until he was convulsing against her and moaning into her mouth.  

For one awkward moment, she thought that might have been it; that maybe that was all she would have to do, but she could feel him hardening again. He whimpered and his hands started to tug at her clothes, tearing them as easily as she might tear a Skittles wrapper.  

“Whoa, whoa, slow it down there,” she gasped and managed to still his hands before they could tear through her favorite shirt. “You want me?” 

“Pretty,” he said and reached for her again. 

“That’s a ‘yes’,” she noted. “You want me to last all night?” 

“Want. Need,” Steve groaned, too far gone to realize how embarrassed he ought to be by his words.  

“Well, you need to slow down. Can you do that? Go slow?” 

His chin shook, but he managed to nod his head. Darcy seriously doubted he had any idea what she was saying. He likely would have agreed to anything if it meant getting relief, but she would take it.  

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him from his destroyed suite into hers.  

Even though Barnes would not permit any to enter, she closed and locked the door.  

Steve moved to kiss her, but she held him back with a gesture and pulled the ruined sweater off along with her favorite shirt before he could rip it beyond repair. The sight of her in a bra was too much and he was on her again, clumsy hands squeezing and fondling in a way that felt surprisingly nice despite the lack of finesse. Darcy thought she might be able to get used to his roughness if it meant hands large enough to encompass her sizeable breasts. His mouth came into play, sucking on her nipples through the thin fabric, biting down and making her scream.  

“More,” he grunted, pulled at the bra until the fabric gave. “More,” he grunted again, his hands and mouth taking up where they had left off, making her cry out again.  

“More,” she agreed, scraping her nails across his scalp, holding his mouth to her as he bit down on the hard nipple of one breast and rutted against her leg.  

This was going to be easier than she thought.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where I mention that I rarely write smut. And I rarely write it for a reason.


	3. Close Your Eyes and Think of Betsy Ross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a hero is saved and a panic is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herein lies some smut, at which I do not excel. High expectations you ought not to have. (No idea why I'm writing like this... it's early and cold and I'm weird.)

Everything Darcy had ever learned or thought she knew about Captain America was a fucking lie.  

He was not the clean cut young man everyone said he was. He did not keep a swear jar in every room of the house. He did not blush a virginal red when presented with a naked ankle. Darcy knew this because he was currently swearing a blue streak against her bare breasts as he fought to tear her jeans from her body. 

“Slow down,” she cried, pushing his hands away to unhook the buttons before he could ruin her pants as he had her sweater.  

“Fucking clothes,” he cursed and ripped the jeans down her legs, taking her boots along with them. “So pretty.” 

His vocabulary was expanding, but he still wasn’t the most articulate lover she had ever had.  She was about to say as much, but he was on her again, literally  _on_  her; his body pressing her into the mattress, practically crushing her beneath the weight of his rock hard abs and even harder cock.  

“Too heavy,” Darcy gasped and pushed at him. She was fairly certain he heard and understood her, but he was too busy grinding against her hips to bother doing anything about her complaint. She wanted to be angry that he was ignoring her, but the friction was doing sexy, naughty things to her lady bits. After far too short a time, his entire body shuddered, and he collapsed onto her, panting into her neck. Again, far too soon, she felt the hardness growing against her.  

He groaned into her skin. “More.” 

His hands were fumbling with her underwear, tearing the delicate fabric. 

Darcy knew what was coming. His behavior so far had been nothing but frantic and rushed. She was well on her way to enjoying having Just Steve buried in her to the hilt, but she wasn’t there yet. If he tried it now, it would hurt like hell for both of them, and she certainly wouldn’t be willing to take him on for a second or third round, which seemed inevitable given his near-instantaneous refractory period.  

With immense effort and every bit of strength she possessed, she managed to roll Steve onto his back.  

“Let’s try something different,” she suggested.  

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, rising to meet her mouth.  

“Charmer,” she smiled and let him lead her in a sloppy, needy kiss.  

With a surprisingly light touch against his chest, he fell back on the mattress and let her slide down his body to settle between his legs. Darcy was no virgin, but even she blushed to have Just Steve, Jr. standing proud and tall in her face. The part of her brain that was still functioning wondered whether the serum had made him so large or if skinny, little Steve Rogers had been hung like a freaking horse. She would never know, as he would likely never speak to her again.  

Refusing to think about all the reasons Just Steve would hate her after this encounter, Darcy wrapped a hand around him. He groaned and arched up, bucking against her palm even though she had barely put any pressure against him. Her stomach tightened at the noises he made, at the sight of his abs as they worked, and the look of absolute bliss on his face.  

“So fucking pretty,” she murmured and gave him a squeeze.  

“More. Please,” he pleaded, setting her lady bits on fire with the pleasure of knowing she had reduced an honest to god superhero to begging.  

He reached for her, cupping her face with the first gentle touch he had managed, brushing his thumb across her lips, and she knew what he wanted, though he hadn’t the words to ask. Smiling down at him, she licked her lips, watching his eyes track the path of her tongue, watching them follow as she dropped down and took him into her mouth. With a flick of her tongue, he was lost to sensation, eyes clenching and mouth falling open as he cried out and came in her mouth. His hand fisted in her hair and he bucked wildly against her, driving himself as far as he could into her mouth and throat, coming again within moments.  

“More,” he cried, pulling at her hair, bragging her up to kiss her, pressing her into the mattress again, trying desperately to fit himself into her.  

“Not yet,” she managed, though her lady bits were so close to needing him as much as he needed her. “You need to do something for me. Give me your hand.” He obeyed immediately, dropping a heavy hand into her palm, letting her guide it between her legs where she pressed his fingers into the barely functioning panties. 

“Wet,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “So wet. So fucking pretty.” 

“You say the sweetest things when you’re drugged,” she cooed and bit back a moan as he petted her. “Harder,” she told him, and this time couldn’t keep the sounds back. He was masterful with his fingers, pinching, swirling and pressing with just the right rhythm to have her writhing beneath him. His fingers slid beneath the fabric and entered her, his calloused thumb circling the tiny cluster of nerves until she saw stars and burst beneath him.  

“More?” he questioned.  

“God, yes.” 

It was all the invitation he needed. The panties were ripped away, thrown to the floor with the rest of her clothes. Just Steve lifted her legs, setting them on his shoulders. She should have been embarrassed; sex had always made her self-conscious. Sex with someone of Just Steve’s caliber ought to have her whimpering behind a bathroom door as she remembered every taunting remark ever thrown her way during high school gym class. It didn’t. She didn’t care, that her thighs were too large, her body out of proportion because he kept repeating those few words:  _so fucking pretty, so fucking pretty_.  

He rubbed himself against her lips, eyes shut tight as he groaned his pleasure.  

“Dammit, Steve!” she cursed. 

“So wet,” he gasped and pushed into her hard and deep, groaning his pleasure and kissing her as she cried out. 

She had been right to take her time. Once he was inside her, he was lost. Any control he had, which had been tenuous at best, was gone. Primal desire took hold and all he did was what felt good for him; Darcy’s pleasure did not compute. He thrust hard, fast and came instantly, only to start again, somehow with more violence. She was so wet from his previous attentions and positioned so that he slid against her most sensitive areas, giving her some degree of pleasure despite how violent he was driving into her. As he started his third round, her body began to quake beneath him, pleasure building, her walls tightening around him and making him moan and plunge harder, which only brought her to climax faster.  

“Fuck!” she screamed. 

“More, fuck more,” came his answering call. He lifted her hips higher, so his every movement hit against her; it was too much, she cried out and dug her nails into his arms as she came undone.  

She lost track of how often he came, how many times he demanded more;  stopped wondering how a man so out of his own head managed to push her over the cliff so many times while taking his own pleasure. She stopped caring and just let it come because, god, did it feel fantastic.  

Lying on her stomach, Just Steve pressed into her back as he thrust into her, she finally couldn’t take it anymore. The overwhelming sensation was too much and she passed out, swearing she heard her name on his lips as he came again. 

oOo 

Darcy groaned as she woke, fighting against consciousness with all her might and failing miserably. Sleep had been wonderful, her dreams blissful and filled to capacity with godlike men in awe of her latent sexual powers. Wakefulness brought reality with it, and in reality she was just an ordinary woman and men were disappointing, when they were there at all. She tried to roll over, but her body ached too much, and she just had to settle for the awkward position she had slept in, one leg thrown over her partner’s hip, his face buried in her breasts. He shifted in sleep, hand slipping from her thigh up to her backside, fingers squeezing and pulling her against him. Damn, he was strong, and she could feel his abs flexing against her.  

Maybe some portion of that dream was actually true, at least the godlike men part. She liked thinking she had a Captain America look-a-like in her bed, begging for more and with hands so big he could actually hold her entire breast in his hand.  

Nah, this was probably just more dream. Magnificently detailed, but just dream. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. 

A grunt echoed her declaration, and her eyes flew open.  

 _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.  

Captain America, Just Steve, was naked. He was naked and in her bed. It was not a dream. She really had let a drugged Captain America have his wicked way with her. Repeatedly and with much cursing. 

Worse, he looked even better in daylight than he did in the dimly lit room of stupid o’clock in the morning. The color was back in his skin and he was no longer shaking with need. A quick glance told her that he had finally managed to flush the neurotoxin from his system, though the blissful smile on his sleeping face could have told her that. 

This was bad. 

If he was back to normal, then he would definitely not approve of her slutty life choices. Yes, they had been done to help him, but she had still chosen to have lots and lots of sex out of wedlock. Lots and lots of unprotected sex, she realized as she saw the unopened box of extra large condoms on the bedside table. They probably wouldn’t have held up anyway, she reasoned, though she might have at least put forth some effort in trying to get him to use them. Great, now he would think she was trying to get pregnant with his illegitimate child, force him into a shotgun wedding or demand compensation to keep her mouth shut and the child hidden away. Yet another point against her.  

She bit back the groan brought on by overworked muscles to extricate herself from hi grasp and roll silently from the bed, crawling across the floor to find her pants, boots, and the rest of her salvageable clothes. With all the speed she could muster, she threw them on and ran for the door, grabbing her bag and launching herself at the elevators before anyone could stop her, not that there was anyone on duty. 

Her hand shook as she pressed her thumb to the scanner, her voice as she spoke, “Lobby.” 

The elevator stopped one floor down, picking up Barnes, who stood opposite her, arms crossed and face as emotionless as ever. “Ice Bear demands report.” 

“Ice Bear can shove it,” she replied petulantly.  

“Ice Bear is concerned.” 

Barnes was quite literally Just Steve’s oldest friend, the one he had risked everything to bring home. She couldn’t blame him his overprotectiveness. She sighed, shoulders falling. “He’s asleep. I think he’s fine. I’m not sticking around to find out.” 

He paused, assessing her face and posture. “Ice Bear thinks Darcy Lewis is running away,” he said, head tipping to the side. “Ice Bear does not understand why.” 

“That would be because Ice Bear won’t be labelled a slut,” she glared at him and refused to answer any more of his questions. When the elevator released her at the lobby level, Barnes followed her as far as the main doors. She paused and turned to him. “Ice Bear, would you make sure Jane gets something to eat?” 

“Ice Bear is not Jane Foster’s assistant. Darcy Lewis is.” 

“Not anymore,” Darcy said, slapping her badge into his hand. “I quit.” 


	4. Ice Bear Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ice Bear is a jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really considered keeping this story strictly from Darcy's perspective, but realized that it would have severely limited Ice Bear exposure. I couldn't have that. Ice Bear deserves more screen time.

He stretched, slow and languorous, feeling tightness in every muscle of his body. Not a single bone creaked or joint popped. His lungs filled easily despite the overly dry air cycled and recycled through the Tower’s air conditioning units. Seventy years hadn’t dulled the memories of the sickly boy he had once been. Shifting in bed, searching for the soft warmth he knew had been pressed against him not long ago, he squinted at the brightness of the day. By the quality of the light coming in from behind the blinds, he knew it was still morning, but far later than he would usually be up. His alarm hadn’t gone off, and Friday had not woken him as he had asked her to.  

“Friday,” he called.  

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” the female voice replied.  

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

There was a pause before she answered. “You have not been well, Captain. You are in medical.” 

“What?” he said, finally looking at the room where he had slept. It was definitely one of the medical suites. After the DC incident, he had spent a good deal of time here. He had hoped not to see much more of the beige walls and nondescript art. “What happened?” 

“I will summon Dr. Walker,” Friday said.  

“No, tell me now,” he demanded, swinging his legs off the bed and standing, his bare feet landing on silky fabric that had no place in a medical suite. He bent to retrieve it, scowling when he came up with a pair of underwear, purple, lace-trimmed and torn.  

His face flushed, and he dropped them as if they scalded him.  

His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to tell him why he had woken naked in a hospital room that smelled of sex and had a woman’s underwear littering the floor. He saw more clothes nearer the door and all but ran to them, biting back a scream of dismay when he found a bra of electric blue fabric and a thick grey sweater, each ripped down the center.  

“What the hell did I do?” 

“Dr. Walker is on his way,” Friday reassured him. 

Moments later, a knock sounded on the door. He couldn’t bring himself to answer.  

“Captain Rogers?” came the familiar voice of the chief physician. 

“What the hell did I do?” he asked again, this time not just of himself. He turned his horrified eyes on the man, hands shaking as he held the ruined clothes for him to see, evidence of some crime he couldn't remember committing. 

“Captain, what’s the last thing you remember?” Walker questioned.  

“The mission, Sam and Rhodey in the air calling point and taking out the artillery; me on the ground. A fog, tasted strange, like chemicals, started losing focus on the plane back,” he paused as he struggled to remember more. His irritatingly perfect memory could dredge up nothing else. “How did I get here?” 

“You were brought in immediately after the mission, Wilson and Rhodes noticed you were acting strangely. They passed inspection and were cleared for release, but your condition worsened,” the doctor replied, taking a moment to gauge his reaction. “Do you remember anything of the past forty-nine hours?” 

“Forty-nine? Is that how long I’ve been here? Two days?” he demanded, panic building in his chest that he couldn’t recall a single thing since the journey home, since that burning ache in his groin and the agitation at not being able to satisfy the need. It had been humiliating.  

“Yes, Captain, and you don’t remember any of it? Not even this morning?” Walker prompted.  

“What happened this morning? I woke up, found underthings, smelled sex,” his voice grew hollow as he remembered the overwhelming need. “Oh, god, what did I do?” 

“Nothing, Captain Rogers,” the man assured him.  

“ _Nothing?_  I am  _naked_  in a room that smells like  _sex_. All I see are torn women’s clothes. Tell me what I did!” he demanded, his voice rising to a shout. 

“Captain Rogers, please,” Walker said, his calm tone doing nothing to dull the anger burning in him. “You were less than an hour away from potential brain death. It was the last resort.” 

“What was?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.  

The man opened his mouth but no reply came out. He shook his head and offered the slightest gesture toward the ruined clothes Steve held in his hands. “She… The young woman agreed that it was the only course of action left to us. It worked. I think that’s what we need to focus on, but we should take some samples to ensure the toxin has been fully flushed from your bloodstream.” 

Steve offered no response because he had none.  

Without his knowledge or consent, the man standing before him had approached some woman, persuaded her to sleep with him – let him have his way with her, if the state of the items she left behind were any indication. He had given his life and body over to science in the service of his country, but this was different. This was wrong. It felt like a violation of his trust. Worse, it had risked another's life to save his. Who would have agreed to something so drastic and dangerous? He knew the thoughts that had consumed him shortly before losing awareness, knew how little control he would have had if left alone with a woman. No woman was strong enough to survive that. God, who had Walker called in? 

“Who was it?” he asked.  

“The lady has asked to remain anonymous,” Doctor Walker said diplomatically, his eyes focused on the task of extracting blood. Steve had been so caught up in the horrors of this situation, he hadn’t even felt the needle. “She made light of it, but I believe she did it for the same reasons you chose to volunteer. In the name of the greater good.” 

He couldn’t keep his face from drawing down into a tight frown, his brows from knitting together. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” he muttered. “Did I… Is she all right?” 

“As far as I know,” the man said. Directing his voice upward, he spoke again, “Friday, has the lady in question reported any problems?” 

“No, Dr. Walker, she left the building twenty minutes ago under her own power,” the AI informed them.  

That was a small relief; she -- whoever  _she_  was -- was alive, though she had to hate him for what he'd done. 

“I’ll have the results shortly and then you should be free to return to your quarters and to active duty, if you choose,” Walker said, taking the vials and leaving him to his thoughts.  

He pieced the sweater back together, fighting against the thought of what damage he might have done to the skin beneath it, trying to place the familiar bulky knit but failing utterly on both counts. He knew he had seen this sweater or one very like it, and on a girl, though he couldn’t remember which one. He met a lot of girls, always briefly. Natasha tried to make the meetings last longer, happen with more frequency and perhaps extend into dates, but he just wasn’t ready. There was still too much he didn’t know, didn’t understand and he couldn’t burden anyone with all his decades of baggage. What the hell did he have in common with a twenty-first century girl, anyway?  

Groaning his frustration, he stomped to the bathroom and showered, washing away the sweat and slime of something he didn’t even remember doing. Walker knew. Friday knew. The girl who had worn that sweater knew, but no matter how hard he worked he couldn’t remember a second of its save the ghost of a warm body hugging his in the minutes before he woke.  

Prior to the serum, his memory had been good; he had been able to sketch the intricate details of a scene from memory. After, he could recall every nuance and detail of a conversation held in a foreign language he didn’t speak, pinpoint a dozen targets on a map he saw for less than ten seconds. His memory had become photographic. To not remember two days of his life was terrifying. The sleep of seventy years didn’t cause him as much anxiety as those two days he had spent fully conscious and completely without control of himself. 

He hurriedly dressed in the sweats he found in the dresser, collected the ruined sweater and left before the doctor gave permission. He didn’t notice the box of unopened condoms nor the chart on the door that held the name of Lewis, Darcy M.  

“Ninety,” he said to the elevator, and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for it to pull to a stop on his floor. The door to his apartment opened at his touch, the knob rigged with the same biometric scanners as the elevator. He stomped inside, throwing the sweater aside to find his gear. He pounded out thirty miles on the treadmill, eyes focused on that damned sweater as he ran. Dripping sweat across the floor, he stalked past it, daring the memories to return. They didn’t. So he wrapped his knuckles and took out his frustration and anger and sheer panic on a sandbag, beating it with more fury than he had in years. Only when it clattered to the floor, spilling its innards onto the polished hardwood did he notice he wasn’t alone.  

Bucky stood in the doorway, watching and silent. 

“Ice Bear knows,” he said, his face and voice as emotionless as ever.  

“Dammit, Bucky, that isn’t your name,” Steve cried, dropping onto the floor, head falling into his hands.  

“Ice Bear knows this, too. Ice Bear thinks it’s funny, so Ice Bear keeps saying it.” 

Steve’s eyes shot up, studying the man before him, taking in the relaxed posture and laughing eyes. “You are such a jerk.” 

“Ice Bear thinks you’re a punk,” he replied as the corner of his mouth tipped up. “Ice Bear also knows you finally had a woman.” 

“Shut up, you—wait, what? You know? Who is she?” he leapt to his feet, grabbing hold of his friend and shaking him. “Bucky, you gotta tell me!” 

“Ice Bear thinks you know already.” 

“I don’t remember anything,” he insisted. “Bucky, come on.”  

“Ice Bear needs to make sure Jane Foster is eating,” he said, and easily broke from the man’s white-knuckled grip.  

Steve watched him go, scowling that even missing half his marbles his friend was still an ass. As the door closed, he realized what he had said and his scowl only deepened. “Jane Foster,” he repeated. “Isn’t that Thor’s girl?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten kudos points to all who guessed guilt and abject self-loathing! Go you!


	5. Ice Bear is Filled with Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the depths of Ice Bear's assholery is revealed.

Steve spent an hour trying to convince Friday to give up the identity of the woman.  

When that failed, he tried asking her what Bucky was doing and who exactly Jane Foster was, which lead him down a path of scientific reading that had his head aching. Convergence theory? He was far from the dullest pencil in the box, but there was no way he would ever be able to wrap his head around that particular branch of astrophysics; Thor talked of it, mostly as he boasted of Jane’s advances and accolades in the emerging field. Everything was a contest with Asguardians, and that his girl was the best in her field was yet something else he could use to compete against others. Mainly Tony.  

Still, he had no idea why Bucky had dealings with such a woman. As far as he knew, Bucky never had any interest in astrophysics, not before the war or during his captivity. Steve had certainly never met the woman, so he doubted his reclusive friend had either. 

All that day, as he glared at the untouched sweater, he asked Friday to verify Bucky’s location, half-convinced his friend had lied about where he was going, what he was doing and who he was doing it with. Finding that he had lost two days and essentially raped a woman had made him rather paranoid; understandably, he thought. 

“Friday,” he called, “where—“ 

“Sergeant Barnes is on his way to the elevators on the fifty-third floor. He will be at your door in approximately two-point-six minutes, Captain Rogers,” the AI informed him before he could even ask. He knew he wasn’t imagining the exasperation in her voice.  

“Thank you,” he said, feeling as if he had been chastised.  

He waited, trying very hard not to look as if that’s what he was doing. His fingers reached for the nearest object to give him some excuse for sitting where he could see the door, inadvertently filling his hands with the thick grey sweater he had been avoiding all day.  

“Damn,” he muttered as he looked at the torn yarns. Seeing the tattered ends of those thick fibers, he knew the girl had been hurt; Friday insisted otherwise, but he  _knew_. There was no way he could have found enough self-control to keep his strength in check, the state of that garment was proof enough of that.  

The contents of his coffee table went flying to make room for the sweater, which he laid out with reverence. Digging through a drawer in the end table, he found the sewing kit he kept there and set about repairing the ruined item, darning it with the same care and attention to detail he had always used when fixing his or Bucky’s clothes back when they had nothing. It wasn’t long before the sweater looked almost as good as new.  

“Ice Bear thinks you’re in love.” 

He was startled by the declaration but managed to keep from showing it. Control. He always had to look as if he were in control, of himself, his team, his life, his emotions.  

“That isn’t your name, Bucky,” he said. “I could kill Tony for teaching you that.” 

“Don’t. It’s hilarious,” the man replied. “Your little girlfriend thought I was insane just like everyone else, but she’s the only one who called me Ice Bear back. It was kind of fun. Only knew her for a few hours, but I’ll miss that one.” 

“You really know who she is?” Steve asked.  

“Yep, and so do you, punk,” Bucky said, throwing himself down on the couch beside him. “How many girls you know wear a sweater as ugly as that?” 

“It’s not ugly,” he insisted, getting a hard look and a raised eyebrow from his friend. “Okay, it’s ugly, but I still kind of like it.” 

“Yeah, you’re in love and you can’t even remember her. You, punk, are as sad as Ice Bear.” He shook his head and laughed. 

Scowling, he changed the subject, “Why are you taking care of Thor’s girl?” 

“Someone asked me to. When she quit. After running away from your naked ass,” Bucky replied and waited, eyebrow cocked, for Steve to connect the dots.  

“Thor’s girlfriend,” he stood, losing control of his feet and pacing an agitated path through the room as he spoke, “her assistant was sweater girl? She quit? Because of me? Shit, I have to find her. Where is Foster?” 

“In her lab, doing scientist things. Ignoring all the food I put in front of her, I might add,” he sighed. “That’s a woman who definitely needs an assistant.” He grinned as Steve ran around the apartment in panic, combing his hair, changing his clothes, only to dribble foamy saliva on his shirt while he tried to ask Friday something and brush his teeth simultaneously and have to change again. Despite how fast he was moving, he was so nervous, it took him an hour to do what most men did inside ten minutes.  

“Are you coming with me?” he asked.  

“Ice Bear could use the entertainment,” Bucky commented, his grin falling into the stony mask most people thought was his actual personality after being de-programmed.  

“You are such an asshole.” 

“Ice Bear knows this. Ice Bear just doesn’t care.” 

“Where the hell is Foster’s lab?” he sighed. 

“Ice Bear will show you,” Bucky said, leading him from the apartment to the elevators. He kept up the persona of Ice Bear even in the empty elevator and corridors. Steve knew why he did it; it kept people at a distance, ensured he wouldn’t have to deal with the staring and the questions. If people knew he was just as sane as Steve, he would be bombarded with demands for answers, interviews, tests on his arm and brain, demands that he make amends for his deeds or join the Avengers.  

Bucky had been drafted and never wanted to wage war. That had been the hardest thing about him shipping off; Steve was the one who wanted to join, who wanted to take up the cause and fight the big bully, but it was Bucky who was strong enough to actually do it, who had been chosen even though he had no desire to. Fate was a bitch sometimes.  

Steve scowled as a lab assistant scurried back around a corner to avoid making eye contact with Bucky.  

“Ice Bear doesn’t care, neither should Steve,” Bucky commented when he heard the man’s teeth begin to grind.  

“It matters, Bucky.” 

“Shut up, punk. You’ll ruin my hard work,” he muttered under his breath. “Next left.” 

The door he indicated was unmarked save the small, shining nameplate that read ‘Jane Foster’ followed by a slew of letters that meant absolutely nothing to him but, he assumed, meant the woman had spent a lot of time in college. He knocked. No answer came.  

“Are you sure she’s in?” he questioned.  

“Ice Bear is certain.” Without giving him time to knock a second time, Bucky produced an access badge and waved it past the handle, where a tiny light turned green and a faint beep indicated that the door had been unlocked.  

“Where’d you get that?” 

“Ice Bear will never tell,” he replied, his eyes doing all the laughing as his face maintained an emotionless mask. “Ice Bear is full of secrets.” 

“You are such an asshole,” Steve said again, but pushed the door open and entered the lab. “Dr. Foster?” he said quietly, afraid of startling the woman. He needn’t have worried; she didn’t even flinch at his voice. He cleared his throat loudly, spoke again, “Dr. Foster?” 

“Hm, yeah, Dr. Foster,” she muttered, checking something against the papers spread across her desk before turning back to her computer screen. The plate of food Bucky had left for her hadn’t been touched.  

“Dr. Foster, I’m Steve Rogers,” he said, using his best Captain America voice.  

“Yeah, Rogers,” she replied, sounding as if she hadn’t actually heard anything he said, just repeated it mechanically.  

“Ice Bear finds penguins frighteningly sexy,” Bucky informed her loudly.  

“Uh-huh, sexy penguins,” the scientist said. 

“Spent three hours making her say the stupidest things,” he whispered. “It was great.” 

“I heard that!” Foster shouted, spinning around and glaring at the men. “Who the hell are you?”  

Bucky sucked his lip into his mouth to keep from laughing as he slid behind his friend, nudging him forward to face the tiny woman’s wrath.  

“I, uh, I’m Captain Rogers. I work with Thor,” Steve hedged, hoping his rank and comradery with her boyfriend might give him some privileges or at the very least keep him out of the doghouse.  

“Oh,” the woman said, studying him a bit more closely. “So you are. Why are you here?” 

“I’m looking for your assistant, actually,” he said, trying to keep the desperation and hope from his voice.  

“Darcy? She’s… well, she’s not here… why is she not here?” Foster made a quick loop of her lab, going so far as to look under tables and behind some of the larger pieces of equipment. “Friday, where’s Darcy?” 

“Unknown. Miss Lewis resigned her position early this morning. She has not returned to the building since,” the female voice informed them.  

“She really did quit,” Steve groaned. “This is all my fault.” 

“Why? Why is this your fault? What did you do?” the woman demanded, crowding him into a corner and poking at his chest in accusation. “She was fine yesterday. Friday!” 

“Yes, Dr. Foster?” 

“Timeline of Darcy’s movements yesterday evening,” she demanded, making Steve cringe.  

“Miss Lewis returned from her dinner run at 1947 with egg rolls, fried rice, shrimp chow mein and four fortune cookies, two of which she ate before returning via elevator three to your lab, where she stayed until precise 0120 this morning. At that time, she forcibly removed you from the lab to your apartment where she sang you to sleep at 0142. At 0143, Sergeant Barnes arrived to escort her to medical. She remained in medical until 0715, when she left via elevator one to the lobby and from the building via the main entrance,” Friday reported. “I cannot report on her movements once she left the building.” 

Her frown turned from pure anger to concern as she asked, “Why was she in medical?” 

“I do not have permission to divulge medical records,” the AI replied apologetically. “Would you care to know anything else?” 

“No, thank you, Friday.” The woman stared at the ceiling for a moment before turning her eyes to Barnes. “You. You took her to medical. You know why she was there.” 

“Ice Bear cannot say.” 

“Cut the crap. I heard you talking before. Answer the question.” 

He shrugged. “Doc needed her.” 

“Which doctor?” 

“Walker.” When it was clear she did not know who Dr. Walker was, he continued, “Tall. Wild hair. Great, bushy beard.” 

Her eyes grew wide with recognition. “He’s only called in on the most severe cases. Why would he be treating Darcy?” 

In the face of such obvious loving distress, even Bucky’s resolve appeared to waver. Whatever agreement was in place to bind his tongue was damn strong if it could hold up to tearful brown doe-eyes that looked so like those of his sister, the only one who had ever managed to break his stubborn silence when they were kids. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t say.”  

All the anger went out of her. She seemed to shrink down to nothing, crumpling in on herself as she fell into a chair. “I shouldn’t have made her come back. She was happy where she was. I dragged her back into this mess, and now she’s alone and probably hurt.”

Steve cringed at her assumptions, but before he could apologize for his part Bucky spoke.

“Don’t you have her number?”

“Oh!” the woman shot to her feet at the suggestion. “Yes! I do!”  

Steve had to leap from her path as she raced to the corner where her bag hung on a hook. She tore into it, grumbling and cursing as she threw receipts, food wrappers and odd scraps of paper over her shoulder in her quest to find her phone. At last, she turned, phone in hand, as she found her assistant’s name in her contact list. She offered Bucky a grateful look as she pressed the phone to her ear. That small smile fell into a frown as she waited.  

“Voicemail,” she said in bafflement. “She never lets my calls go to voicemail.” 

“Maybe she’s still sleeping. She had a rough night,” Bucky offered, sending Steve a knowing look.  

Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from telling his friend, yet again, what an asshole he was. He settled for sending him a withering glare. The tiny scientist, luckily, did not notice the exchange. She was too busy dialing the number again.  

“Voicemail!” she cried. “This is weird. Friday!” 

“Yes, Dr. Foster?” 

“Darcy’s address. What is it?” the woman demanded.  

“My privacy protocols prevent me from divulging that information,” the AI said. 

There were often times when Steve missed JARVIS. That AI was far more advanced; over the years, it had learned where and when it could bend rules and re-write protocols as needed. Friday did not have that ability, and likely never would. She didn’t learn, just preformed her functions, for which Steve was understandably despondent.  


	6. Movin' On Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which new jobs come with crappy responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

Darcy Lewis kept records like a boss.  

Most people didn’t know it, but she was the queen of paper filing. Not just knowing the alphabet and putting things in their proper place. Any chimp could do that. No, she had folders and subfolders, kept files and records on hand and organized for any and all eventualities. iPod stolen by Men in Black? She totally had a copy of her receipt and registration to file a claim on that. Nameless Bureaucrat No. 4 mislays proof that she has, in fact, been paying her student loans back in full and on time? Check out her folder of bank statements that read otherwise. Unexpectedly unemployed at 7am on a Tuesday? No prob! Check the files and there you will find an eight-month old copy of her resume and cover letter, complete with references from Dr. Jane Foster and Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts (all from that last time she found herself canned from SI).  

By that afternoon, 6pm, Darcy had herself three job offers – two from SI competitors and one from a non-profit organization working to promote science, math and engineering education in low-income schools. 

Not bad for a woman who hadn’t slept for twenty-eight hours and couldn’t actually feel most of the muscles in her legs. She returned home to her tiny apartment in Flatbush. It was above a walk-in Chinese restaurant and always smelled of egg rolls, but the rent was decent, the appliances new and the upstairs neighbors were quiet. It was home. After her last layoff from SI, she had wallowed in the lameness of her life, being a quasi-hero and still getting the boot; she had put her energies into nesting, filling her apartment with thrift store furniture and art, hanging a sweet mid-century lucite rack to hold her collection of beanies and scarves.  

This time, she would not wallow. She had prospects, some of which were ridiculously lucrative, though she likely wouldn’t bother since they only wanted her because they thought she’d bring Stark Industries secrets with her. The secrets she had from the Tower would never be shared. With anyone. Ever.  

Thinking of those secrets made her feel dirty.  

The pipes rattled and creaked as she turned the faucet on, but the water came out hot and clear, filling the tub. She all but dove in, soaking her muscles and washing away the filth that wasn’t really there. Logically, she knew she had done a good thing, saved the life of a hero who would go on to save millions more lives, saved the life of a decent guy, but she still couldn’t stop herself from believing how low that great guy must think her for doing it.  

Time, she hoped, would heal those particular wounds to her pride. But she very much doubted it.  

The phone rang, the all too familiar strains of ‘She Blinded Me with Science’ filling her ears and making her eyes burn. It was Jane. She had called innumerable times already that day. The calls had started at 11 am. Darcy had been surprised she realized her assistant was gone so early in the morning; the woman was generally elbows deep in science until well into the afternoon, when Darcy had to literally drag her from the lab for something to eat. Jane had called so often and so frequently, she knew no science was being done that day. 

Darcy slid beneath the surface and held her breath until the song and call ended.  

Jane would give up eventually.  

Alone in her bathroom, Darcy pretended the water on her face was all from the bath. She wasn’t crying. Definitely not.  

Two days later, on Thursday, after a solid night’s sleep and a decent meal, Darcy took a position at Science! For All, which she absolutely did not approach simply because of their kickass name. Nope. For once, the work made use of her degree, and she found her quick wit and smart mouth were pretty good at getting the attention of media, corporate gatekeepers and educational lawmakers. At the end of her second week, Darcy was fairly well convinced that quitting Team Foster was the best decision she had ever made. Then the boss came knocking.  

“Lewis,” Gary said as he wrapped his knuckles on the jamb to her office. (Yep, she had an office.) 

Darcy looked up from her computer screen. After two weeks, she had started to learn the man’s quirks. His face changed slightly depending on the assignment he was about to dole out. Right now, he was wearing his ‘exam’ face, which was slightly more terrifying than his ‘pop quiz’ face. He had been a science teacher in a middle school for close to ten years before the bureaucracy and politics of the educational system killed the passion; he wore the grey in his hair like a badge of honor.  

“What’s up? Big assignment?” she questioned.  

“Very. We’ve got a donor match promise from Boeing,” he said, easing into her office and settling himself into a chair, his long legs having a difficult time finding enough room in the tight space. (Okay, so she didn’t have a  _big_  office.) 

“That’s great!” 

“Yes, especially when you call up some of your Stark contacts and get us one hell of a donation.” His ‘exam’ face made total sense now, as did his eagerness in hiring her; he had promised her an office and impressive benefits package starting on day one. She had known there would be a catch, and she had anticipated it involving her SI connections.  

“Yeah, I’ll get on that,” she said, her voice losing nearly all its enthusiasm even as the smile remained on her face.  

“We have until next Friday to get this done,” Gary said, hoisting himself up and strolling from her office.  

“No pressure,” she muttered and glared at his back.  

She took a few minutes to brace herself before delving into the task. Darcy, as we all know, kept records like a boss, and she did not waste eight months of her life pushing plates of food at a genius and singing her to sleep every night. Okay, she did, but that wasn’t all that took up her time. She had a dedicated file of contacts at Stark Industries she had personally met with and knew for absolute fact worked with similar non-profit organizations to promote math and science education.  

By the following Thursday, Darcy was strutting like the boss she was into Gary’s office.  

“Call Boeing, they’ve got a hell of a number to match,” she said and smiled.  

She got a bigger office on Monday.  

She also got a touch of the flu and the nastiest food poisoning she’d ever encountered courtesy of the shrimp fried rice she grabbed at the Chinese restaurant below her apartment. Just as things were looking up for her, all she got to see was how badly she needed to scrub her toilet. She called in sick the next two days.  

Even though she didn’t feel all that better, she toughed it out to get to work. She felt like she had something to prove, though to whom she didn’t know. Probably to herself. Mainly, Darcy really liked the work they did. It was thankless and the hours were long, but the tiny team was close-knit and they all believed in what they were doing. Darcy was no exception. She made cookies for Lucy, their accountant, on her birthday, and was given a bottle of wine as a ‘thank you’ in return. Gary brought in a box of donuts ever Monday morning, took the team to lunch every Friday and paid for the dry cleaning on Darcy’s jacket when she didn’t make it to the lady’s room in time when she caught food poisoning for the second time in two weeks.  

“Where did you eat?” Lucy questioned, when Darcy trudged into work looking more green in the face than anything else.  

“Ethiopian place down the street. Never again,” Darcy groaned and sucked down some more chamomile tea and saltines.  

“Yeah,” the woman agreed, turning to tear the menu off her bulletin board. She crumpled it and threw it at the recycle bin. “Oh, Gary needed you. New assignment.” 

“Joy.” 

Gary met her at the door, steering her away from his desk to a chair strategically placed near the trash can. He looked her over worriedly.  

“I’m fine. It’ll pass,” she insisted. 

“Think you’ll be all right by next month?” 

“Why? What’s next month?”  

He plucked an envelope off his desk and offered it to her. The paper was thick, cream colored and likely at least twenty percent cotton. Their address was hand written in a looping calligraphy that made her feel as if she ought to sit up straighter and hold her pinkies in the air.  

“No return address,” she noted, reaching in to pull the letter free.  

“Hand delivered,” Gary informed her. 

“I would expect no less from Stark,” she muttered as she stared down at the invitation in her hands.  

“The messenger said Ms. Potts was impressed by our initiative and wanted to meet with us personally. Since you made it happen, I want you to represent us,” he said, oblivious to how still she’d gotten. “Thought you might see some of your old friends, too.” 

“I might not be better in time,” she said quietly.  

“You’ll be fine, just stick with rice and crackers until then,” he advised dryly, knowing her absolutely incapable of resisting the Monday donuts or a greasy eggroll for the next three weeks.  

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck and a half_ , she cursed as she hurried from his office to the bathroom at the mere thought of her two favorite foods. 


	7. Better Part of Valor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a party is attended and a hero is annoyingly perceptive.

Darcy was not all better by the night of the gala, but she wasn’t sick enough to be let off the hook either. As she stood before her bathroom mirror, pinning her hair into place, she considered running downstairs for a box of shrimp fried rice in the hopes that it would trigger a sense memory in her gut and have her heaving by the time the car arrived. Stupidly, she ignored the impulse and continued to get ready.  

By midnight, she would regret that decision.  

The soirée was being held at The Met. An actual red carpet had been rolled out over the gum-stained steps, with reporters and photographers crowding either side if it, straining the barriers set up to allow the guests to enter unhindered. Darcy’s stomach crawled up her throat to see all those camera bulbs flashing ahead of her, knowing someone would be putting her picture on the internet, that someone would see her, find her. Still, she had a job to do. Chin stubbornly jut, she ploughed up the carpeted steps, only stopping once she reached the door to hand over the invitation.  

“Welcome,” the guard said with a smile and nodded for her to be let in.  

Darcy had been to The Met, but not during any sort of function like this. She had visited it when she first came to New York, walked among the exhibits and tried to dredge up every bit of Art History 101 she still kept locked in her brain, which admittedly wasn’t much. That mattered very little tonight; art was on no one’s mind,  not with an open bar, a DJ and a string quartet competing for the guests’ attention.  

“And you are?” a man questioned, every inch of him screaming his disapproval of her without ever saying it directly.  

“Darcy Lewis representing Science! For All,” she retorted in an equally affronted tone.  

“This way,” the man said, guiding her forward and into a line of attendees.  

“What’s this?” 

“Ms. Potts will meet with you shortly,” he said before spinning around and returning to his post by the door, belittling even the most well-dressed and famous without having to say a word to them.  

Darcy wasn’t sure what to make of it. From what little she knew of the woman, Pepper Potts was sort of like her, the plucky assistant made good, only she made out a hell of a lot better than Darcy did. Still, she didn’t seem the sort to have a string of people waiting for her attentions as if she were the Queen of Sheba. Her knee jerk reaction was to call bullshit, say ‘screw it’ and walk away, but she wasn’t just Darcy Lewis of Flatbush Ave. tonight; she was Darcy Lewis representor of underprivileged children and their right to pursue their dreams. So she waited.  

Normally, Darcy would have described the strawberry blonde who met her among the Greek and Roman artifacts as statuesque, but, when standing so near actual statues, the adjective seemed something of an insult. Pepper Potts was tall and beautiful, yes, but she was warm and welcoming, unlike the hard and inflexible relics. She smiled with genuine pleasure when she took her hand, and spoke as if she remembered Darcy, though they had never actually met.  

“Darcy,” she smiled. “The Tower was in quite the uproar when you resigned.” 

She couldn’t maintain her own smile. “It was?” 

The woman nodded. “Yes, Dr. Foster somehow managed to push her way past all of my secretaries the day after you’d left. And she’s so tiny.” 

“Her anger gives her tremendous strength,” Darcy agreed, tears stinging her eyes to know how upset Jane had been at her sudden departure.  

“I know that now,” the woman said, continuing as if Darcy were not fighting to keep her emotions in check. “Sergeant Barnes was with her; apparently, he’s acting as her assistant now. I was surprised he took to the job so well. It’s doing him some good. The last time we met, he was bordering on expressing an actual emotion.” 

“That is progress,” she replied in a hollow voice.  

She was trying not to ask about Just Steve, fighting the words that were desperate to come out. Her job tonight was to make polite small talk, subtly seek out future backers and spread word of their organization, not dredge up suppressed memories and curl into a queasy ball among the artifacts of gods long forgotten. She knew what she had to say on behalf of Gary and all the kids they helped but was terrified that if she opened her mouth  _that_  question would come out. As the silence started to extend between them, she prayed the other woman would speak again, give her something to work with that wasn’t  _that._  

Pepper Potts, however, was busy taking Darcy in. Having never met, she had to be curious what sort of person would have diminutive scientists and super soldiers knocking her door down. The woman’s eyes studied Darcy with an open curiosity, no doubt noticing the odd tinge to her pale skin, the too tight dress, the agitated quaking of her hands. A glint sparked in those studious eyes, one that spoke to just how intelligent and calculating the woman truly was.  

“S—“  

At the sound of what might possibly have been his name, Darcy rushed to speak. “Thank you.” 

“For?” 

“Your generous donation,” she said quickly, letting her mouth run. “Having Stark Industries back our tiny little NPO brought in some major press coverage. We’ve been able to expand our reach, touch more lives and improve many futures thanks to you.” 

“Giving back is what we are all about now.” She smiled. “And many of those children will be our future employees, so, really, we’re just self-serving in the end.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” Darcy commented before she could stop herself. 

“No, not everyone,” the woman disagreed, that glint in her eye turning meaningful.  

“Ms. Potts,” Nameless Suit No. 2 prompted, gesturing to the door and the line that had likely grown while they talked.  

“Right,” Pepper said, turning her smile back to Darcy and offering her hand again. “Please, call us any time. We are more than happy to give to a cause like yours. More than that, your friends worry about you.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” Darcy took her hand, expecting the same gentle squeeze and quick shake of their initial meeting, but the woman’s grip grew tight. When she looked to those blue eyes again, their sincerity and message were clear enough without her having to speak another word.  

“Whatever he did to make you leave, he feels awful about it,” she said so low no one but Darcy could possibly hear.  

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You do. And a word of warning, he’s here tonight.” 

“What?” Darcy felt the sick fighting to escape through her mouth.  

“Ms. Potts,” Nameless Suit No. 2 prompted again.  

“Try to enjoy your night,” Pepper said and released Darcy, who was ushered from the room back to the main hall.  

Her senses went into overdrive as she strained to hear his voice, catch some sight of him, some whiff of him. Not that she had any idea what Captain America smelled like. Home cooked meals and waves of grain, maybe? 

Darcy quickly made the rounds of the room, calming only when her reconnaissance found that he wasn’t in it. The party was taking place throughout the entire first floor, so she had plenty of space she might put between herself and her erstwhile lover of sorts. Once she had the lay of the room and staked out several choice hiding spots, she was able to relax and do her job, schmoozing and selling Science! For All to anyone who would pause long enough to allow her to speak.  

By 10, she was in the full swing of her pitch when she heard it, that soft chuckle that had met her in the elevator that day nine months ago when Just Steve had helped her on her first day back on the job. It came from behind her. Daring a glance, she saw him, tall and broad-shouldered, his ridiculously narrow hips hidden beneath a tux jacket. She spun and made a beeline for the nearest hiding spot, a solid stone plinth some three feet tall and topped with an enormous bronze statue of a horse. Even in heels, she could easily disappear behind it without having to crouch and look like a crazy lady.  

Hoping that he was just passing through on his way to another wing, Darcy stayed hidden for what felt like an eternity. Every time she glanced over the plinth, he was still there. Why wasn’t he leaving? He was just shaking hands, smiling and laughing and talking and being all handsome and personable. When he made his way around to the north wall, she slid to the other side of the statue, keeping the solid stone between them.  

“Hey, Short Stack.” 

Darcy spun at the name and the voice speaking it. She knew who it was, but hadn’t spoken to him in months even before she quit her previous job. There was no one there.  

“Behind you.” 

“Dammit, Barton,” she snarled and spun again to face the heavy stone.  

“Look up.” 

She lifted her eyes to the statue, which now sported a smirking blond rider. “How are you allowed up there?” 

“With rank comes privileges, Short Stack,” Barton grinned and swung a leg over the horse, sliding down to the plinth and then to the floor, landing without making a sound.  

“Ass.” 

“After all this time, I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he grinned. 

“The last time we met, you ate all my Cheetos and hit me with a barrage of purple Nerf arrows,” she reminded him baldly.  

“Because the time before that you dropped a pudding balloon on my head.” 

“In retaliation for you slapping a sign on my back telling everyone to ask me how I rickroll.” 

“Oh, yeah, that was great. I need to do that again,” he grinned again. “So! What has the illustrious Captain done?” 

“What? What are you talking about?” 

“Captain America, tall, blond, righteous, I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of him since you’ve been staying out of his line of sight for the past thirty minutes,” the man commented as he leaned back to get a view of the superhero in question. “Oh, he’s coming this way.” 

“Shit,” Darcy cursed and hurried around the plinth, skidding to a stop when she saw Just Steve exactly where he had been the last time she looked.  

Clint was laughing when she dove back around the statue.  

“You were saying?” 

“Shut it, Barton,” she snarled. 

“So, Steve Rogers, scorner of interns, is it?” he speculated, rubbing a hand down the sides of his face as he studied her. After this eyes took her in, he shook his head. “No, maybe not. Dress is a little tight there, Short Stack.” 

“It fit when I bought it last week,” she grunted, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him. She wanted nothing more than to stomp away, but her escape route would have made her too visible.  

“And feeling a little sick lately?”  

“How would you possibly know that?” she demanded.  

He shrugged and pointed skyward. “I see better from a distance. Been watching you for close to an hour. You look like you might hurl whenever anyone offers you hors d'oeuvres.” 

“It’s called food poisoning, jackass.” 

“Doesn’t an inability to keep food down usually result in weight loss? You’ve gotten fatter, kid,” he observed, offering her belly a gentle touch. “And it all seems to be right here. Been getting busy lately? Maybe with someone you’re trying to avoid?” 

Darcy tried to play it off, to ignore his observations or call them meritless, but she couldn’t. Her mind flew back to that morning and the three unopened boxed of extra large condoms. Yes, she was on the pill, but who was to say just how strong super sperm was. Apparently very if it could punch a hole in her birth control and emergency morning-after contraception.  

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” she breathed.  

“Yes, I’d say you did, and with Steve. I didn’t think he had it in him,” Barton grinned. “The way he went on about Barnes, I swear I thought he was gay.”  

She groaned out another ‘fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck’, which he just babbled over with his inane grin and overly enthusiastic chatter.  

“Man, Kate is going to bust a gut when I tell her—“  

“ _NO!_ ” she cried, throwing herself at him, covering his mouth with both her hands to shut him up. “You tell no one. Ever. You don’t mention me, not even to your closest friends. You never saw me. I wasn’t here. Got it?” 

His eyes narrowed as he considered her panic. For the millisecond he studied her, she was terrifyingly certain he would argue, but after a pause he just shrugged. “Whatever.” 

He pulled away from her grip and strolled around the massive pedestal, disappearing into another wing and presumably up into the rafters like the nut job he was. Darcy was left alone with the revelation that she had been knocked up by The First Avenger.  

“Fuuuck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You totally saw it coming.


	8. Rule Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Old Man Bro Code must be obeyed. Or else.

His fingers brushed the sweater as made his way out the door for his morning run, and again when he returned. He touched it when he passed through the living room on his way to the kitchen and back, on his way out the door to a briefing or to dinner. After four weeks, his fingers reached for it without him telling them to, without him even realizing they were doing it.  

That sweater had become a metaphor for the woman who had worn it; the thick yarn symbolic of her strength and power to protect.  

In the time she had been gone, Steve had tried to learn all he could about her, Darcy, the woman who had put her own safety on the line to save him. He had sought out Dr. Foster, Thor, nearly everyone in the Tower who had ever met her, however briefly – the only exception being Tony, because he wasn’t about to explain his motives to someone who could make a request for water into an innuendo. Foster refused to speak to him about her, taking him at his word that he was to blame for her assistant’s sudden departure. She spoke to Bucky, who in turn happily withheld the information because he was an asshole. Everyone else, though, was more than willing to talk, and the more they talked the more he realized that Darcy Lewis was amazing. She was the sort of everyday hero he admired, the woman who gave up her seat on the train for expectant mothers or the elderly, held doors for delivery men, handed her box of leftovers to panhandlers and grabbed an extra coffee for a coworker who was dragging, always without being asked.  

Bucky had been right.  

He was in love. 

And he had hurt her so badly, he knew she ran rather than risk a chance encounter with him.  

“Do you two want to be alone?” Bucky questioned as he walked past, averting his eyes from the all too common sight of Steve stroking the grey sweater.  

“No, I’m done,” Steve muttered, taking up the garment and carrying it to the kitchen. He kicked open the trash can and threw the damned thing away.  

“Lover’s quarrel. Ice Bear knows them well,” his friend commented. “But I’m sure you will come to realize that the sweater only had your best interest at heart and you will forgive it in time.” 

“Enough, Bucky. I don’t want to hear it anymore.” 

The man caught him by the shoulder before he could escape. “What? Are you giving up?” 

“She doesn’t want to be found. She disconnected her number, so even Foster can’t call her anymore. I hurt her,” he insisted weakly, shoving him off and stalking from the apartment before he could argue.  

He bypassed the elevator, knowing it would be too slow and would give Bucky time to catch up. Instead, he sprinted down the stairs, leaping down entire flights, reaching Avengers Operations well before the elevator would have arrived to collect him outside his apartment. He settled into a chair and waited for the team to assemble and coordinate.  

The gala two days earlier had been a success so far as press coverage went. He had managed to keep his public face on the entire night, despite cringing with every word of praise sent his way. No one knew what sort of man he was, the sort who could harm a woman like Darcy Lewis. He certainly didn’t deserve the lauding they gave him, but he smiled and let them speak. The Avengers needed the public to like them if they were going to keep doing their job.  

Barton arrived, offering a smile so smug that he was sure the man had slapped a sign on his back about rickrolling or duckrolling or something equally as stupid and baffling. When a surreptitious pass of his hand down his back proved there was nothing there, he had to wonder what the man was smirking about.  

“Ice Bear is disappointed in Steve,” Bucky said as he sat down beside him. 

“Ice Bear can go to hell,” he replied under his breath. 

“Ice Bear has been there. It’s surprisingly cold.” 

Again the twinge of guilt came at the reminder of how much his friend had been through. “Bucky…” 

“Ice Bear is tired of Steve taking every quip so seriously. Ice Bear thinks he needs to find Darcy and get laid.” 

“Not funny.” 

“Ice Bear is hilarious. Steve is just too frustrated to realize it.” 

Across the room, Tony cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention before asking, “Are you two old ladies done bickering over there? Or is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”  

“Ice Bear was advising Steve to get a girlfriend,” Bucky replied in the emotionless monotone he used when around anyone but Steve and Dr. Foster.  

The billionaire philanthropist shifted uncomfortably as he always did when Bucky referred to himself as Ice Bear. It had been a belittling nickname Tony threw out at random, though with far more venom than those he usually devised off the cuff, but Bucky had picked it up and run with it, crafting a mad alter ego around the name. Tony had no idea that it was a long, drawn-out joke at his expense. “Yes, well, you aren’t wrong.” 

“Mandy in Promotions,” Natasha suggested.  

“Ice Bear finds her laugh grating.” 

“That’s true,” the woman agreed, with an accepting nod. “How about Daphne—“ 

“Will you stop already?” Steve cut across her words, glaring at everyone. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“That is exactly the attitude that keeps you single, Cap,” Tony sighed, but gave the tabletop a tap and set the holographic projectors to running.  

The meeting that followed was intensely dull, even by his standards. No matter how much military jargon they threw at it, they were still just discussing public image, something he had more than enough experience with to be allowed to skip these strategy sessions. His boredom, unfortunately, left him looking around the room, meant he was watching Barton smirking at him again.  

As he watched, that smirk grew wider, more malicious and then the man spoke. “I had a thought.” 

Tony’s hand flew to his chest, and he fell backward into his chair. “Jesus, Barton, give a man some warning before you spring something like that at him.” 

“Funny,” the archer replied baldly. “No, at the gala I met with a girl.” 

“I thought we weren’t setting Cap up.” 

“Of course not,” he replied with far too much innocence. “She was from a non-profit Pep donated about a quarter million bucks to, promotes science and math and shit. Well, being the poster boy for what science can do, I thought maybe Rogers might go talk with them about promoting their cause.” 

“Ice Bear agrees. Steve’s living was made better through science.” 

Barton pointed to the seemingly-mental assassin. “See, Barnes agrees, so you have to. It’s in your old man bro code.” 

Steve managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Barely. “There is no old man bro code.” 

“Ice Bear has been writing one. Doing what Ice Bear says is a good idea is Rule 3.” 

“What’s Rule 1?” Tony asked.  

“Always carry a knife,” Bucky and Natasha replied together.  

“That is in no way intimidating or terrifying,” the man said, looking between the pair and probably trying to calculate just how many knives they were each currently concealing. 

Barton, who likely knew how many knives Natasha kept on her person at all times, just continued as if Tony wasn’t in fear for his life. “So by the power of Rule 3, you, Cap, are heading to Science! For All.” 

“Do I get a say in this?” Steve questioned dully. 

“Nope,” Tony said, as he tapped at the table and brought up a chart. “Numbers are down since my last late night appearance. Middle America just doesn’t appreciate my humor. Mom likes you best, so you get to be our public face. Dress pretty and smile nice. They represent my future employees.” 

This time Steve could not contain his eye roll. 

Still, the next day, he arrived at the door of the Little Non-Profit That Could, as the media had dubbed Science! For All after their meteoric rise in donations. He had read the brief on the company and been impressed by the amount of contributions the organization managed to pull in over the last few weeks, which translated into a lot of kids getting futures just that much brighter. He could absolutely get behind such an idea. He just wished Barton’s smug expression hadn’t left him with a seed of dread and doubt; he was up to something.  

The man who met him at the door was nearly as tall as he was and introduced himself as simply ‘Gary’. Despite the salt and pepper hair, he didn’t look all that much older than Steve, who admittedly was considerably older than he looked, but the point still stood that Gary was likely barely into his 30s. He was enthusiastic about his job, sharing the statistics that caused him to found S!FA, the backers he had secured with only an idea and the genius who had brought them into the spotlight with her connections and interpersonal skills.  

“D!” Gary called across the small office space.  

“No!” a woman shouted through an open door plastered with the same kind of cat memes that Barton liked to send to his phone at rude hours of the night.  

“You don’t even know what I want,” he cried.  

With his enhanced hearing, he could hear her snort in reply.  

“I have donuts!” he offered.  

“Bribery is illegal!” 

“A bit of baksheesh is tolerated among friends,” Gary retorted.  

“Baksheesh with pink frosting and extra sprinkles?” 

“Have I ever bribed you with anything less?” he questioned, bringing a smile to Steve’s face at the easy comradery the pair had, though Gary had said the woman had only worked there a few weeks. He spoke of her as if she was his greatest treasure, and, given what she had brought to the organization and the kids it helped, Steve had to agree.  

“Alright, nothing else would satisfy Mama Bear,” she announced from the doorway, her red lips dropping instantly at the sight of them. “Oh, hell no.” 

Steve didn’t understand her reaction, why she was looking at him as if he were the last person in the world she ever wanted to see. Before he could puzzle it out, she was gone, having grabbed her bag and made a run for the door, climbing over a desk and occupied chair rather than attempt to push past him. Staring at her retreating figure, he could only replay their short non-greeting in his head, that perfect memory of his recalling every millisecond. He scowled as he thought of her stepping into the doorway, her smile dropping into a horrified grimace, her hand flying to her stomach and obscuring the image of a fox in teal glasses knitted into her sweater. That was the second ugliest sweater he had ever seen in his life.  

“Darcy?”  

“So you’re him?” Gary stared at him in open-mouthed awe. He thought perhaps it was a delayed reaction, that perhaps he had only just realized that Steve was Captain America, but the man put an end to that misconception. “I knew she had left Stark Industries for a reason, assumed it was some inappropriate office romance given the pregnancy, but I didn’t think it would be  _you_! I mean—“ 

Steve grabbed at the man’s shoulders. “Pregnancy?” 

“Well, yeah, a woman doesn’t throw up every morning like clockwork for three weeks without a reason, and food poisoning is not her problem, no matter what she claims. She’s pregnant.” 

“She’s pregnant?” Steve echoed.  

“And you didn’t know. Oh, shit. She’s going to murder me in my sleep, poison my Monday donut, punch holes in my LPs,” he groaned and gripped his hair.  

“Where is she? Please, tell me where to find her.” 

“She lives in Flatbush.” 

Steve couldn’t help but smile. Of course she would live in Brooklyn. All good things came from his home borough.  


	9. On the Street Where You Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which misunderstandings are resolved.

Steve burst from the office and out onto the street, startling more than a few pedestrians and pigeons, but he didn’t care. He had hoped to catch up with Darcy out on the sidewalk, but he had spent too much time staring stupidly after she had escaped, talking to Gary and realizing that he would be a father.  

A father.  

When he was sickly, scrawny and asthmatic, he used to think of his father, wonder what he had been like and what might have been had he not been hit in the Great War. His mother talked of him as if he were a saint, though in her more annoyed moods, generally after Steve came home bloody and scrapped from another back alley fight, she would mutter under her breath about how much like his father Steve was. He had seen how difficult things were for his mother. She worked hard, did what she could, but, as a woman alone, she could only do so much. Yes, times were different; single mothers weren’t scorned today as they were then, and women could rise to greater heights in the world than anyone back then could ever dream. It wasn’t that he thought Darcy incapable. He just couldn’t be the sort of man who let a woman go it alone.  

Determined to make her forgive him, he ran. Down the sidewalk, down the litter-strewn stairs and onto the closest subway train that could carry him to Flatbush Ave.  

He found the place easily. Gary had relayed all that Darcy had ever told him about her apartment, including that it lay above a Chinese Restaurant that looked as if it failed any and all health inspections. Steve had to agree, the place did make dysentery look like a welcome alternative to sampling their fare. It was no wonder Darcy thought she had food poisoning.  

The door to the apartments above was in a small alcove up a single worn step. He found the buzzer with her name – ‘The Fabulous D. Lewis’ – written in purple pen beside it. He pressed the button.  

No reply came.  

He pressed it again. 

Still nothing.  

He could break the door down easily, but knew that wouldn’t offer her any inkling of how sorry he was for the damage he had done to her body and life. He could wait outside until she came out for food or work, but he didn’t have the patience for that. Maybe before he could have, but not now that he knew what she was going through.  

“To hell with it,” he muttered and made his way around the building, leaping to grab the rolling fire escape ladder and climbing up to her window.  

The window was open, a watering can laying on its side and the puddle on the windowsill told him that she had been watering the potted plants on her fire escape when he pressed the buzzer, that she had panicked and dropped the can. Had she run from the apartment once he disappeared around the building? No, he reasoned. The door held no peephole; she would have had no way of knowing when he had gone. So she has to be hiding. 

Steve, as a much younger man, had never imagined a woman actively avoiding him. He had been so small and easily overlooked, there was no reason for any woman to fear him enough to hide. It was strange to think of Darcy doing so now.  

“Darcy?” he called through the open window.  

A lesser man wouldn’t have heard the string of soft curses or the anxious pacing she was doing in another room. A better man would have taken the sounds to mean she didn’t want him near and left. He was neither lesser nor better. He was just Steve.  

He climbed through the open window, letting his apology announce his presence and intentions.  

“Darcy, I’m sorry.” 

The cursing intensified the closer he got.  

“Gary told me about your condition.” 

More cursing. He had never imagined falling for a woman with such a filthy mouth.  

He paused outside the door where the colorful strings of swear words originated; placing a hand on the peeling wood, he waited, hoping she would come out on her own. The cursing died down slowly, only to be replaced by a new and gut-wrenching litany of ‘please go away, please, please go away’. Just how deep was her fear and hatred of him, that she, a woman so outspoken by all accounts, didn’t even dare confront him for his actions?  

“I’m sorry,” he told the door. “I know I hurt you, and you have every right to hate me and refuse to look at me. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to do this alone. I—“ 

“Hate you?! Are you shitting me?!”  

The shout startled him as did the door flying open. Its unexpected removal had him stumbling forward into the tiny bedroom and closer to the irate woman within.  

“ _You_  are the one who is supposed to be shunning  _me_ ,” she informed him, fists on hips and defiance in her eyes. “I am the slut who slept with you when you had absolutely no idea what was going on. Nice girls don’t do that, not to Captain America.” 

His mouth fell open. “That’s why you ran?” 

“YES!” she cried, hands flying into the air and gesturing wildly as she continued on a rant about societal double-standards and social norms and something about dirty, dirty sluts, all of it so much nonsense that he stopped listening to what she was actually saying and simply focused on how passionate she was and how the flush on her face made her look stunning.  

She had stopped speaking. She was staring at him expectantly. “Well?” 

“Well what?” 

“Well, get it over with. Bring on the baby eagles crying at my poor life choices.” 

He tried not to smile. “God, you’re beautiful.” 

“Wai— _What_?” she stammered, those gorgeous eyes growing huge as she stared up at him. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than perfect.” 

“You are absolute shit at shunning people,” she groaned and hurried to put distance between them. Her face was flushed, and he could see the pulse beating rapidly in her pale throat. “Okay, so we’re friends again. You can go live your life happy and content. Bye.” 

Steve made his way around the barriers she was erecting, the chairs and shelves she was rolling between them, each time getting closer until he could finally touch her. That hand which had so often reached for her ugly grey sweater reached out and slid a chocolate curl behind her ear, his thumb lingering against her cheek.  

“I don’t think we were ever friends,” he commented, a smile touching his lips as he felt her pulse speeding beneath his fingers, “but I’m more than willing to resort to a little baksheesh if it will help.” 

Her voice was tight, the humor forced, as she replied. “Donuts?” 

“I had something else in mind.” 

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to flee. She stayed, lifted her face to meet his, slid her tongue against his lips and teeth and tongue and made him groan into her mouth with weeks of ache and want.  

“Just Steve,” she whispered against his lips. “You really don’t hate me?” 

He kissed her again before answering. “How could I?” 

“Oh, thank god!” she cried and pulled him further into her bedroom. “This kid has had my hormones out of whack like you wouldn’t believe. I’m going through batteries faster than I can charge them!”  

Steve couldn’t follow her meaning, even as she tugged him toward the pillow-covered bed. “I’m sorry?” 

“Sex,” Darcy said so loud and clear that he had no room to misinterpret her, and in case he did, she continued, “I want sex. Lots and lots of superhero sex. With you. Now.” 

He felt the heat rising in his face. “I, uh, I can’t really promise anything. I don’t remember anything that we did.” 

“Please,” she scoffed as she started stripping the hideous fox sweater off her body. “If you’re even half as good as you were last time, you’d still be the best I’ve ever had. Seriously. A-frickin-mazing. No lie. Not just trying to boost your ego or anything.” 

Steve couldn’t move. He had hoped to find her. Hoped she would forgive him, but he never imagined she would want to be with him again. Friendship and unrequited pining on his part was the best he had thought would come of their meeting. Sex? That had not been on his mind. Okay, yes, it had been on his mind, but as a fantasy to fill lonely nights, not realistically.  

“But, I…” He tried to force moisture into his barren throat. “I hurt you.” 

He knew it was true. He knew how strong he was, how much focus he had to maintain at all times to keep from exerting too much pressure on pens or doorknobs. Human bodies were so fragile, a pound of pressure was enough to break the skin. Without actively controlling himself, he surely broke bones and tore muscles.  

“Just Steve,” she sighed. “Look at me.” 

He looked.  

Darcy was beautiful. Every childhood fantasy made real with her perfect hourglass figure and full, red lips. Standing so near a bed in just her mismatched underthings, it was a struggle not to show how much he wanted her.  

“You’re lovely. I don’t want to hurt you again.” 

“Do I look hurt to you?” she demanded. She flailed her arms and lifted each leg to prove nothing was broken. “No, I’m fine.” 

“But I—“ 

She easily cut off his weak protest. “You ruined me for other men, is what you did. If you want to make amends for ‘hurting me’,” she flexed her fingers in extremely sarcastic quote marks, “then I demand compensation in the form of sex.”  

He felt the heat in his face again. “I really can’t promise anything.” 

“Do you want me?” 

“God, yes.” 

“Then strip, soldier!” she ordered, giving him no time to comply before her hands started attacking the buttons of his shirt.  

Her hands were deceptively tiny, just as she was. She was so much smaller than he was; she ought to be the weaker of the two, but her will was so strong he couldn’t hope to stand up to her. The second her fingers touched his bare chest, he had no more thought of protests. He wanted her. He had already had her, but he couldn’t remember a moment of it. Seeing her practically naked before him, he knew that was the worst punishment of his life.  

“You really don’t remember anything?” she questioned.  

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.  

“This is going to be so much fun,” Darcy grinned wickedly. “I know all the things that make you scream.” 

“Won’t take much,” he assured her.  

“Oh, I know.” Her eyes danced as she bit her lip and slid her hands down his torso, as she dropped to her knees.  

He swallowed thickly, watching her, knowing what she was going to do, suspecting she had done it before and hating that he couldn’t remember the feel of her lips around him. Her name ripped from his throat as she took him into her mouth, as her tongue swirled and her hands squeezed him. Control was hard to maintain, but he managed to keep from tangling his fingers in her hair, from thrusting into her mouth. 

It only got harder.  

She was licking her lips when he opened his eyes, watching him and smiling. “Good?” 

“Yes.” 

“More?” she questioned, a joke in her tone that he didn’t understand. 

“Yes.” 

Her blue eyes, nearly black with desire, racked over his naked body. “Need a minute?” 

“Yes,” he said again.  

“Well, that is a change,” she commented. “More time for me, I suppose.” 

With almost no effort at all, she had him on his back, her lips and hands working their way up his stomach and chest. “I thought you wanted me to do something for you,” he gasped as she took a nipple into her mouth.  

“Oh, this is doing plenty for me,” Darcy smiled. “But, if you’re offering…” Without waiting for him to comply, she took his hand and slid it up her thigh.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it annoy anyone when stories start with intense smut and then end with some wimpy excuse for a resolution and zero sex? Me, too! Which is why there's totally more sex.


	10. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the end is reached.

Steve had touched her before. He knew he had by the state of the clothes Darcy had left behind in her rush to escape, but he had no memory of the soft skin, of that pliant flesh, of the way it seemed to thrum under his fingertips and how his touch brought goosebumps across her entire body, of the mews and moans she released when he brought his hand up her inner thighs and teased at the fabric between them.   

“I love the sounds you make,” he said.  

“They get better after you tear my underoos off,” she promised breathlessly.  

He couldn’t fight the grin. “Really?”  

“You weren’t this much of a shit last time,” Darcy complained, her insult broken by a groan when he pressed his thumb into her most sensitive spot. She groaned again when he pulled away. “Dammit! Don’t stop!” 

“I hadn’t planned on it.” He pressed her into the overly padded mattress to steal a kiss far too quick for either of their liking. Darcy didn’t whine for long, not when he turned his attentions elsewhere, taking her breasts into his hands, molding his fingers to cup them perfectly. His mouth explored her as she had him, kissing at path down her throat, between her breasts.  

He laid his ear against her stomach. There was nothing to hear, nothing to feel. Her body showed little evidence of her condition. Whatever life they had made together was months away from being able to respond to his presence. 

“Soon,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, yay for baby,” she agreed. “But let’s focus on the now where my lady bits really need more TLC than they’re getting.” 

“Your lady bits need to stop being jealous of a fetus.” 

“Says the guy whose man parts have already gotten some,” she retorted. “Lady bits, Just Steve. Focus on the lady bits.” 

He smirked against her skin, offering her stomach a kiss. “Whatever you say.” 

“You didn’t talk this much last time,” she whined. “Just tear them off and get on with it!” 

He did not rip the underwear off her body, though he was desperate to reach her, especially with Darcy so vocal in her need for his attention. It was a monumental struggle, but he managed to slip his hands beneath the garment and slide it, unharmed,  slowly down her legs. Every cry and complaint made the effort worth it, because her need was intoxicating, a delicious drug that hit him like nothing ever had before or since 1943. 

Kneeling over her, he couldn’t help but want to capture her likeness. She would look glorious on paper.  

“I’m going to draw you when we’re through,” he told her.  

She threw an arm over her head and batted her eyes prettily at him. “Like one of your French girls?”   

He smiled ruefully. “Never had a French girl. Never had any girls.” 

“Oh my freaking baby Jesus in a manger,” Darcy squealed and offered him a disbelieving shove. “Did I seriously punch your V-card?” 

“Assuming that means what I think it means,” he hedged, “yes?” 

“Dude, I’m so awesome,” she declared. “Just so you know, for a virgin, you sure know how to rock a girl’s world.” 

“I thought you weren’t stroking my ego.” 

“If it gets those fingers moving again, I’ll stroke anything you like.” The enticing wiggle of her hips she gave was enough to test any man’s restraint, even his.  

“You’ve no idea what you make me want to do to you,” he growled. 

The smirk that pulled at the corner of her mouth went straight to his groin. “Oh, I absolutely do. You’ve done quite a bit to me already, Just Steve, and I would love it if you’d do it all again. And again. And again.” 

That smirk grew larger at the sight of him fighting for control. It grew larger still when he had to clench his eyes and rattle of a long string of baseball statistics to calm himself down. When he opened his eyes to see her again, he found it was breath and information wasted. His need was too much, his control snapped and he threw himself at her.  

Her mouth opened for him, her tongue leading his in a kiss that had them both moaning. Beneath him, her hips were moving again, pushing up into him, demanding attention again. He gave it. His hand followed the line of her body and dipped between them. At the first touch, she bucked against him.  

“Damn, you’re good,” she gasped and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, breaking from him only long enough to moan her encouragements.  

From what he had overheard in many conversations while in the army, Steve had learned that women took a long time to get into sex, when they got into it at all. With Darcy’s breath coming in ragged gasps between noises too arousing to be allowed and her body quaking and bucking beneath him, he was beginning to think those lunkheads had no idea what they were talking about. He only offered her one last pinch in the right place, and she was shuddering and crying out beneath him.  

He kissed her, not knowing what else to do or say.  

“More?” she asked.  

“Always,” he said. 

She offered a lazy smile as she took him in her hand and guided him into her. 

Again, all those conversations he pretended not to hear were absolute shit. Every notion they had given him of what it was like to be inside a woman was so off base he might as well have been throwing a football in Ebbets Field. She was warm and soft, and fit him as if she were made for him. Being inside Darcy was like coming home. It was heaven. And then she moved, twisted her hips and tightened around him, and he died.  

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Not so fast.” 

“Not what you said last time,” she said, biting her lip at the glare he offered her.  

“I’m trying not to break you,” he replied through clenched teeth.

She slid her legs up his, locking them around his hips, pushing him deeper and forcing a moan from his throat.  “Go ahead and break me,” she whispered, her grip on him tightening again.

“Dammit,” he groaned and pulled from her until he thought the sensation would kill him, then he plunged back in. “Fuck, that’s great. You are perfect. And you’re mine.” He kept talking, though he lost all awareness of what was actually coming from his mouth, filth most likely, but he didn’t care. She was making the greatest sounds whenever he thrust into her and all he wanted in life was to hear her scream his name. He lifted her hips off the mattress, pistoned into her. He wanted her to come around him, but he couldn’t last much longer. Her hold was too tight, her body too fantastic. He cursed and felt his release coming fast.  

“I—I can’t,” he cried, fighting to control it long enough for her to fall over the edge first. 

Through the lust fogging his every thought, he heard her. “Come for me.” 

And he was lost.  

“Oh, God, Darcy,” he groaned and fell apart inside her, pumping through his release. 

Every muscle in his body wanted to give way, to fall slack on top of her and just feel her beneath him, but her demand for him to keep going was strong enough to keep him perched on his elbows, to have his hips thrust just a few more times. It was all he could do, but it had her moaning out his name. 

He fell to her side, laying half off the too small bed and not caring in the slightest that there was a picture of a cat glaring its displeasure at him form the night table.  

“More?” Darcy asked in a ragged whisper. 

“Why do you keep asking?” he panted.  

She rolled onto her side, her fingers making trails in the sweat on his chest. “That’s all you were able to say last time. More. Please. And a lot of swear words that Captain America isn’t supposed to know.” 

“Captain America probably doesn’t know them,” he smiled. “Luckily, I’m just Steve.” 

“Well, Just Steve, you have a very dirty mouth. Someone needs to clean it out for you.” 

“You volunteering?” 

She smirked at him, her lipstick a mess across her lips, hair a tangle and glasses fogged over. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I already did. How do you think I got knocked up?” 

“Ice Bear hopes your first child will be a masculine child.” 

The voice made Darcy squeak and dive under Steve for some form of modesty.  

“God, you’re an asshole,” Steve groaned and tossed a pillow at him.  

“Better than being a punk,” Bucky countered as he dodged it. “And if I’m not the best man, I will be pissed. Do not incur Ice Bear’s wrath. I’ll tell Foster you’re fine.” With a nod toward Darcy, who still lay clutching Steve and holding a pillow to her chest in wide-eyed horror, he left.  

“Did he just--?” 

“Yeah, he’s a jerk. That whole Ice Bear thing is just a—“ 

“No,” she interrupted. “Did he just imply that we’re engaged?” 

Steve looked at her, his heart falling into his stomach. Maybe he had misinterpreted what they were. Maybe all she wanted from him was just sex and nothing more, but he couldn’t do that. “Aren’t we?” 

“You haven’t asked.” 

“Would you say yes if I did? Because I can’t keep doing this Darcy,” he gestured to them and the bed. “My mother raised me better than this.” 

“And my mother raised me never to accept proposals from naked men in bed,” she countered.  

“Then I’ll get dressed and ask you over breakfast.” He smiled and hopped out of bed, finding his pants and sliding into them as she watched him, eyes huge and terrified but also admiring. She would say ‘yes’. He knew she would, and then he would be more than just Steve.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. My very first sex pollen fic. I would also call it my first intentionally cracked story. Do let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> So this entire story came about because I caught an episode of We Bare Bears and was determined to write something with Bucky talking acting like Ice Bear. [LINK TO ICE BEAR MOMENTS ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyPeDZ-I8pY). Then I read [ Craving](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4749452) by GlynnisIsta8 and knew what to do. Because, really, anything with Bucky referring to himself as Ice Bear was going to be a crack fic and sex pollen stories are some of the crackiest crack stories I've ever read. Seriously. 
> 
> Do let me know what you think.


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